


When You've Got So Much To Say (It's Called Gratitude)

by Seventeenthcircleofhell



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Crying, F/M, First Kiss, I'm so mad they didn't do more with that scene, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 02, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seventeenthcircleofhell/pseuds/Seventeenthcircleofhell
Summary: Five times Ellie and Hardy are grateful for each other, and one time they show it.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller, Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 23
Kudos: 191





	When You've Got So Much To Say (It's Called Gratitude)

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to the amazing Mercy, and the rest of the Sad Bch Gang
> 
> -  
> I worked so hard on this it's embarrassing

“D’ya want a hug?”

She doesn’t let herself hesitate.

“ _What_? No!”

She would feel guilty for the flustered, stuttering mess she turned him into, but she has to turn around quickly, avoid his eye, don’t think too hard about it.

She doesn’t know why she said no. Except that he’s Hardy and she’s _Miller_ and they don’t hug. They bicker and argue and they drive each other up the wall. They have each other's backs and they help each other survive but they _don’t hug_.

She tries not to think too hard about how much she wants to say yes. How much she wants him to wind his arms around her, how she wants to bury her head under his chin, just cry into his chest. Somehow she knows he’d have been okay with that, despite how uncomfortable almost all situations requiring human contact make him. She can almost feel the ghost of a kiss on her forehead, and decides to swerve away from that line of thinking before it can lead her down any roads she’d like to avoid.

So she doesn’t turn back around and tries not to glance back at him in the mirror, tries to exit the loo as quickly as possible to stop herself doing something she’d regret.

If he’d asked if she wanted a hug in the hotel after Joe's arrest, she’s certain she would’ve said yes. She knows, without a shadow of a doubt, she’d have collapsed in his arms and cried until she was too weak to stand.

Instead, she’d bid him goodnight once the clock struck 2am, surprised by how quickly the time has run by in his company. The tears restarted the second he'd closed the door behind her.  
She’s grateful he didn’t ask.

* * *

“I can’t do it on my own”

Ellie stares into Hardy's desperate, pleading face. His eyes are practically begging her for help, and the emotion he’s (for once) choosing not to hide breaks something open in her chest.

 _I trust her. She can help_.

Suddenly, she realises how close they’re standing. His face lacks its usual barrier, and his body its invisible forcefield, keeping everyone away. Unable to touch him. To get too close.

His lips are a hairs breadth from her face, and she has to pull her head away from that line of thinking with a great deal of effort. She decides not to look too closely at that.

Of course she’s going to help him. She doesn’t know who she's kidding by resisting.

His entire body sags with relief at her agreement, and be seems a lot smaller somehow. His features morph back into a loose mask of indifference, but she can tell he’s grateful.

Still, it’d be nice to hear him say it.

No point dwelling on that now though.

Secretly, she’s feeling a little blinded being stood in the direct beam of Hardy's earnestness. It’s not as if she didn’t know he cares for her, at least in a 'pity for a work colleague' sort of way. She hadn’t recognised the weight of his heart.

 _I trust her_.

That simple sentences keeps bouncing around the inside of her brain like a pinball. She hadn’t realised how nice to is to still have someone on her side.

How nice it feels to be _needed._

She doesn’t tell him she’s grateful either.

* * *

“Oh Millahr, I could _kiss_ you”

The strength it takes for her not to react to that is one she didn’t realise she possessed.

Hearing her name said in a breathless sigh she can’t help the shiver that runs through her, and can feel her face heating up with a blush. She keeps her head bowed and makes a hasty exit after that.

As much as she hates the news that Claire has agreed to see Lee, she couldn’t help the slight buzz that she’d get to deliver it to Hardy. She knew it’d please him, and a small thrill sings through her spine at the thought of him being grateful for her appearance at his door.

She’d much prefer to be at his door so late at night for different reasons, but she doesn’t linger on that thought. She lets it live in the allocated _shame corner_ in the back of her mind, and locks it behind a heavy door. She has never allowed the thought to fully form and she isn’t going to let it now.

She doesn’t know if she’d have been able to keep that door closed if he’d invited her inside.

She’s grateful he didn’t.

* * *

“Go to sleep, Millahr”

Hardy rolls over after that, refusing to face her. Ellie can’t tell if that’s an admission or not. Part of her doesn’t want to find out.

The idea that Hardy slept with Claire stirs an emotion in her that she can only describe as _ugly_ , and she doesn’t enjoy it one bit.

She can tell he isn’t asleep. His breathing hasn’t evened out, and his back is hunched too tightly for him to be in any sort of relaxed state.

The fact he won’t face her is a knife twisting in her gut, and she’s at war with herself deciding between trying to _fix it fix this say something_ and just rolling over and going to sleep.

In the end, the choice is made for her-

“No. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Oh,” She doesn’t know why a sudden weight has been lifted off her chest, but she doesn’t want to think about it either.

“She had a husband. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. Not even him.” His croaks out, sotto voce, his voice breaking slightly. She feels a painful tug on her heart, and suddenly remembers an article from what feels like eons ago-

_She was having an affair with another DS._

_It happened on my watch._

**The DS in question will remain unnamed.**

His DS. His team. On his watch.

 _Oh_.

She wants to ask, but the question is lodged in her throat.

“Hardy...” she lets the word trail off into the air round them, her voice carrying in the dark room, bridging a gap in the space in the bed between them. She can feel a familiar burning behind her eyes, and once again she’s glad the curtains are unforgiving towards any moonlight that might try invade on this moment.

An invisible wire wrapped around her wrist is tugging her arm forward until her hand is resting on Hardy’s shoulder before she can think any better of it. He tenses very suddenly, his entire body locking up under her touch.

She holds her breath, already mentally running through a million scenarios for damage control, regretting every decision she’s ever made throughout the day that has led her to this terribly awkward situation-

And in half a second, he releases the breath she hadn’t noticed he was holding, and deflates under her hand like a punctured balloon.

She’s so surprised by his reaction she looses all ability to move, and just stares dumbly at the back of his head until he starts to turn over. She snatches her hand back quickly, and watches as he immediately tenses again.

He’s staring at her now, eyes almost imperceptible in the dark. She stares back, looking at his slightly parted lips for a long few seconds even though she knows his eyes will be able to trace her gaze. She feels braver with the lights off.

They lay like that for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes, looking into each other’s eyes through the cover of darkness, their breathing the only sounds to be heard throughout the room. Hers, slow and deep, his, soft but shallow.

Tentatively, she reaches a hand forward into the ocean between them, leaving it open and exposed. She sees his eyes flick towards it for a brief second before he too is reaching towards her. The slight brush of skin sends static shooting through Ellie’s system, and from his widened eyes she can guess he felt it too.

Before either of them know what’s happening, they’re tangled in each other’s arms, squeezing tightly in an embrace that feels more like a consolation of heartbreak than a reprieve of pain. Still, she clings to this moment, clings to _Hardy_ , and curls her hands into fists where they’re resting on his shirt, gripping the material, not letting him pull away. He makes no movement to try.

She realises he’s crying when she shifts her head more firmly under his chin, feeling his chest shake where her ear is pressed, listening to his heartbeat, making sure he’s still with her. But his tears fall silently, and she allows him his privacy by pressing herself even closer, keeping her head buried, not sparing a glance at his face.

Soon after, the shaking subsides, his breathing finally evens, and she knows he’s slipped into unconsciousness. She doesn’t dare pull away.

She knows how this will look in the morning. They’ve already been accused of an affair, not much more damage can be done, but looking each other in the eye under the harsh light of daytime is not something she wants to think about right now.

(It was always easier to pretend it doesn’t count in the dark.)

She lets herself drift off soon after.

When she wakes up, the bed is empty, Hardy’s side of the sheets still warm.

“C’mon Millahr, busy day ahead. Get up” she hears him call out as he closes the loo door behind him. His tone belies nothing out of the ordinary, his usual gruff attitude held firmly in place.

He’s not going to mention the night before.

She isn’t either.

They’re both silently grateful for that.

* * *

 _ **Going in for the surgery. Keep an eye on the case**_.

Of course. Of bloody-fucking-course. He didn’t tell her before he went in for surgery. She doesn’t know why she expected any different.

She hates that she’s surprised.

He might die. A _text_. Twat.

Her anger is the only thing that keeps her from going mad with worry all day. The idea of him not making it out alive is a hand squeezing into a fist, its grip on her heart. Panic is a balloon under her ribs, expanding with every breathe she takes as she drives to the hospital.

_Bloody stupid idiot selfish bastard_

She grips the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white.

_He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive-_

She realises she’s speeding after a very aggressive succession of horns beep angrily at her car. She can’t bring herself to care.

_Deep breaths._

  
_Don’t do this to me._

  
*

  
He looks so fragile in that bed. She’s afraid to touch him, worried he’ll break under her fingers. She can’t be responsible for ruining him too. Everything she touches seems to fall apart.

So she doesn’t touch him. Just hovers at his bedside, refusing to even leave for the loo lest he flatline in her absence. Realistically, there’s nothing she can do to save him if he does. But another person won’t end up dead from her negligence. Not again. Not _him_.

When his eyelids start to flutter, she feels a wave of relief so powerful it could have knocked her over. And with its departure she is suddenly flooded with rage, fury rushing through her veins, filling her head to toe.

She stands quickly, before he’s fully conscious, and leans right over his smug, grumpy (pale, sunken) face. She will be the first thing he sees so he knows exactly what he’s put her through. He’ll just have to be glad he isn’t staring into the face of a vengeful God, because that’s how she feels right now.

Her eyes flick briefly over his face, tripping up their exploration over his lips. She blinks, and shakes her head, trying to rid it of any of _those_ thoughts like attempting to disperse a swarm of circling bees.

He opens his eyes.

“A _text_?!”

“Don’t start, Millahr”

Of bloody-fucking-course.

_Knobhead_

She’s so grateful he’s alive she almost chokes on air when she tries to yell at him, the thought of every breath she’s taken for granted weighing heavy on her mind.

From the smile Hardy cracks her from his bed, he’s clearly grateful too. She can’t help but beam back.

  
_He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive._

* * *

“You’re wrong.”

The look he gives her would make her laugh if she wasn’t trying not to cry.

“We’re not all alone.”

His eyes are blazing, and she can’t pinpoint what is swirling within them. But she knows what she’s trying to say, and she hopes he knows it too.

Even in the aftermath of Joe’s arrest, after she was left with no husband, no friends, a broken family, an empty job, a cold new town – despite all that – she was never truly _alone_.

As much of a grumpy brooding arsehole Hardy has always been, he was always beside her. Or trailing not too far behind. Or walking at an urgent pace in front. Regardless, he was always there, in one way or another.

The least she could do is do the same for him.  
He bobs his head in what she assumes is a nod of agreement, and she knows he’s caught the meaning shielded behind her words. Even after everything she still isn’t brave enough to just _tell him ask him say **something**_ , but as long as he _knows_.

Neither of them move, sat opposite ways on the wall but still turned to face each other. Any other words to be said are carried away with the light late-Autumn breeze, and they let a comfortable silence linger between them. All they need is the sound of the sea lapping softly against the docks to fill the space.

She feels a slight brush over her fingers where they’re splayed out on the wall, propping her up. Hardy’s hand is inching its way over the back of her hand, and she thinks she’s given herself whiplash with the speed she looks up at him, question burning in her eyes.

He’s resolutely not looking back at her, instead staring down at their overlapping hands, expression pinched with a concentration he usually reserves for studying case files.

In a moment of reckless bravery, she decides to stop _pushing pushing pushing_ any and all thoughts of Hardy down into a black hole in the back of her mind. She turns her palm over, and twines their fingers together.

“ _Ellie_...” his voice is a taut wire on the verge of snapping, and she can’t help the jolt through her heart at hearing her first name come from him for the first time since the interrogation room.

(“ _Don’t call me Ellie_ ”)

Suddenly she feels like all the wind has been knocked out of her chest and she couldn’t speak even if she knew what on Earth she was supposed to say right now.

Her grip tightens, and he squeezes back. Finally, he looks at her.

Between the look on his face and the sound of her name running on a frantic loop in her head, she begins to recognise something in her stomach that feels almost like _hope_.

(“ _I’ll see you soon_ ” spoken gently, a hand resting loosely on her arm, trying to comfort)

  
(“ _I really wanted to be wrong_ ” said with resigned defeat)

  
(“ _What have you eaten today_?” asked with poorly-hidden concern)

  
(“ _You shouldn’t be alone_ ” told with exasperated insistance)

  
(“ _You alright_?” again and again and again)

He’s been looking out for her all this time. She’s never told him how grateful she is for him.

“Alec...”

Ellie decides to take a leaf out of his book, and shows him.

She reaches with her free hand, grabs onto the knot of his tie, and pulls him forward into a kiss.

There it is, that static again. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. Quite thrilling, actually.

She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on what kissing Hardy ( _Alec_ ) would be like. And now she’s glad. Nothing she could’ve dreamt up wouldn’t pale to the reality.

The thin stubble he's adopted scrapes lightly against her skin and it grounds her to this moment. This moment where one hand is gripping his tie and the other is still gripping his hand, where he has moved impossibly close to her, his own free hand holding tightly onto her jacket as if to stop her from pulling away.

She makes no movement to try.

His lips are far softer than she would’ve expected, and he's surprisingly gentle. He moves against her as if she’ll break under his touch, and she finds herself worried that she might.

She lets out an involuntary sigh, and suddenly Alec is grabbing onto her waist with both hands with a desperation Ellie hadn’t realised he was resisting. She moves her now-free hand to cup the back of his neck and pulls him down closer still. Their legs have ended up tangled on top of the wall, neither of them noticing they’d swung around to further face each other.

Ellie is the first to pull away, and Alec makes a sound somewhere between a whine and a whimper that makes her stomach drop at the same time a smile spreads across her face. His cheeks have flushed a rosy colour from what she assumes is embarrassment (and she would be _partially_ right). It suits him.

She feels dizzy, and a little drunk. And like her legs wouldn’t be able to support her if she tried to stand up right now.

Alec is opening and closing his mouth in a very fish-like manner, pupils blown wide, clearly feeling like he should say something but having no idea what it should be. She can’t help the sting of pride that she finally has him lost for words. She feels a particular smugness towards the noise he just made, too.

Oh, but how _good_ it feels to be desired.

By Alec bloody Hardy of all people.

“So,” she begins with faux nonchalance, a grin creeping into her voice that she tries to keep off her face, “got any plans for this evening?”

Alec is still looking utterly dumbfounded, blinking widely like he can’t quite register exactly what has happened in the last five minutes.

“I – uhhhhh” - he clears his throat – “Millahr-“

“Do _not_ go back to calling me 'Miller' after that, you complete wanker” her tone exasperated, but it lacks heat. She means it, though. They can’t go back to ' _Miller and Hardy_ ' like some sort of comedy duo.

“Wanna – uhh – erm – do you-“ Ellie can feel her patience waning, even if she does secretly find his nervousness endearing.

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he finally forces out, and she considers making a joke about professionalism in the workplace before she looks into his big Bambi eyes filled with anxious hopefulness, and decides it’s probably a better idea to leave that for now.

“I would love to." she says simply, instead.

They both stand at the same time, Ellie wobbling on her unsteady legs for a second before balancing by leaning against Alec, his arm coming out to catch her.

“Mill- _Ellie_?”

“Yes, _Alec_?”

“Thank you.”

“For agreeing to dinner?” she jibes, nudging her elbow into his rips, “no need. Free food, ya see?”

He smiles at her with an expression she can’t look at for too long without her eyes welling up, but she knows he knows she understands.

 _Thank you_ she says silently, hoping her eyes tell him all he needs to know.

_Thank you thank you thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully I did them justice.  
> Hmu on Tumblr, that's always exciting @Seventeenthcircleofhell (can you tell I don't know how to hyperlink?)
> 
> Comments & Kudos always appreciated


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